How Strange it Is
by Emily the wild one
Summary: "How strange it is to be anything at all." Harry and Luna. No crazy stuff.
1. Fate as Malleable as Clay

****DISCLAIMER**: **These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.

"We set sail on a winter's day, with fate as malleable as clay." – Joanna Newsom, "Bridges and Balloons"

Prologue: departure  
>"Luna, time to wake up!" Xenophilius Lovegood's nervous voice sounded outside his daughter Luna's bedroom door.<br>Luna opened her blue eyes and smiled at her painted ceiling. "Yes, daddy," she answered softly. He didn't reply, only made his way back downstairs, so perhaps he hadn't heard her, but it didn't matter, really. He knew she'd been awake for hours, despite the early time: She had dreadful insomnia.  
>Luna rose from her bed and folded back the covers, not quite making the bed but making it look neat enough. She wouldn't be sleeping in it until Christmas, anyway. But she stuffed that thought from her mind; she hated thinking of Daddy being alone until then.<br>Tripping over to her chest of drawers, Luna barely glanced at her reflection before digging around for clothes. Remembering she'd already packed most of the good stuff, she reopened her trunk and pulled out a favorite: bright red overall shorts with a sunflower handpainted on the front kangaroo pouch pocket. She stepped into them and buckled the straps over the long blue t-shirt she'd slept in; she'd be changing into her robes soon, anyway.  
>"Dad?" she called down the stairs. "Want to help me with my trunk?"<br>"What's that-? Oh, yes, right away, plum!" Xenophilius came trotting up the stairs in his Wellingtons, squelching mud all over the wrought-iron.  
>"Daddy," Luna said crossly. "Don't forget to clean this mess when you get home!" <em>I won't be home to do it<em>, she added silently.  
>He seemed to hear this unspoken addition to her statement, and pulled her close into a warm embrace. "I'll take care of it, my chicken pot pie," was his crinkle-eyed reply.<br>Luna smiled at her father, then shuffled around him on the stairs. "My trunk, dad," she intoned gently.  
>"Right you are, Luna," he stuttered, clumping up the stairs to where her trunk sat just inside her bedroom. "<em>Locomotor trunk<em>," he murmured, raising his wand and slowly levitating her trunk down the stairs. Luna followed, eyes on the ceiling, mouth open, watching a moth flutter blindly from wall to wall in the narrow stairwell.


	2. Serenaded Hourly

Chapter two

"It's why I love this town; just see me serenaded hourly, celebrated sourly, dedicated dourly." – Joanna Newsom

After a teary goodbye on Platform 9 3/4, Luna tripped along the train, searching for an empty compartment. At long last, she spotted an empty one, and hurried to get her trunk in place. Slumping low in the dusty seat, Luna blew her long hair out of her eyes, stuck her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, tugged a rolled-up Quibbler from her pocket, and began to read about how to turn her enemies' ears into kumquats. Not that she had any enemies; although plenty of her fellow Hogwartians were overly fond of playing little jokes on her, she was sure it was all in good fun. And, after all, none of them ever talked to her, or bothered to find out what she was like. If they knew nothing of her personality, how could they even dislike her? No, Luna Lovegood disliked no living creature, but kumquats were certainly an interesting fruit, and there are worse things to have one's ears become.

After some time, the compartment door slid open and Luna was blinking at Ginny Weasley, a good friend. "Hi, Luna," said Ginny, "is it okay if we take these seats?" Just as Luna began to wonder at the word "we" and all its impliations, two male Gryffindors sidled into the compartment behind Ginny. Both had dark hairm but one was a bit plump and round-faced, while the other was skinny and spectacled. With a quite peculiar scar, Almost like lightning. Harry Potter?

Remembering that she'd been asked a question, Luna nodded, without taking her eyes off Harry. He was cute!

"Thanks," said Ginny, smiling at her. Harry Potter and the other boy hefted their trunks, as well as Ginny's and a snowy owl fast asleep in her cage, onto the overhead luggage rack. The three took their seats, and, to Luna's utter delight, Harry plopped down directly in front of her. She discreetly watched him over the top of the Quibbler, gleaning what details she could. His clothes were oversized and rather shabby, his heart-shaped face pale, his nails unkempt and dirty. He did not come from a happy home, that much was evident. Then again, Luna's own hair was tangled, her nails filthy, her clothes patched, but her home life was fine. Daddy just wasn't a mother.

"Had a good summer, Luna?" Ginny asked, interrupting her musings.

"Yes," said Luna, without taking her eyes off Harry. "Yes, it was quite enjoyable, you know. You're Harry Potter," she added, this time addressing the peaky boy before her.

"I know I am," said Harry. Luna nearly laughed aloud; he certainly thought he was clever.

The other boy did laugh, and so Luna shifted her gaze onto him. She couldn't remember if she had seen him around Hogwarts or not. Probably not, as he was both in a different year and a different House. "And I don't know who you are."

"I'm nobody," said Neville rather quickly. Luna rather doubted that; he was very clearly sitting right before her, and she usually didn't hallucinate entire people when she was overtired, just faced and hands and pliltrums.

"No you're not," said Ginny at once. She was a good person, always quick to defend her friends, whether with word or with wand. "Neville Longbottom - Luna Lovegood. Luna's in my year, but in Ravenclaw."

Yes, Ravenclaw. Intelligent, clever, witty. Wit, their very motto. "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure," said Luna musically. And she resumed her perusing of the magazine again.

Just when the silence had become relaxed, Neville cut through it with all the intensity of a wet strand of yarn. "Guess what I got for my birthday?"

"Another Remembrall?" guessed Harry. Luna was not quite sure what a Remembrall was.

"No," said Neville. "I could do with one, though, I lost the old one ages ago… no, look at this…" Keeping one hand clamped firmly around an unhappy-looking toad, Neville dug around in his bag before emerging with what appeared to be a small potted cactus, but with warts rather than prickers.

"Mimbulus mimbletonia," he declared with pride, as though naming his firstborn son.

Luna eyed the thing curiously. It seemed to be almost beating, as if it had a heart. Do you have heart, little Mimblewimble? she felt like asking it.

"It's really, really rare," said Neville, beaming. "I don't know if there's one in the greenhouse at Hogwarts, even. I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout. My Great Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria. I'm going to see if I can breed from it."

Harry seemed lost for words. "Does it - er - do anything?" he asked.

"Loads of stuff!" said Neville, sounding as though he had been waiting to be asked this. "It's got an amazing defensive mechanism. Here, hold Trevor for me…"

The toad, whom Luna was assuming was Trevor, was dumped unceremoniously into Harry's lap. Neville, holding the plant up to his eyes, screwed up his face in concentration and gave the thing a sharp poke with his quill.

Its "defensive mechanism" kicked in immediately, spraying them all with a foul-smelling liquid in a most unpleasant color. Luna threw up her Quibbler and Ginny her arms just in time, but the two boys were drenched in it.

"S - sorry," Neville sputtered. "I haven't tried that before… didn't realize it would be quite so… don't worry, though, Stinksap's not poisonous," he added nervously, as Harry gagged and coughed a mouthful of the stuff onto the floor.

At that precise moment the door of their compartment slid open. "Oh… hello, Harry," said a nervous voice. "Um… bad time?" Luna looked up in time to see a plain-faced Chinese girl eyeing Harry like he was something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe. Luna thought she might be a Ravenclaw, two years above herself.

"Oh… hi," said Harry blankly.

"Um…" said Cho. "Well… just thought I'd say hello… bye then." Luna frowned to herself. Why say hello and then immediately say goodbye? The girl left, and Harry slumped low in his seat.

"Never mind," said Ginny bracingly. "Look, we can easily get rid of all this." She pulled out her wand. "Scourgify!" The Stinksap vanished.

"Sorry," said Neville again, very quietly.

The compartment sunk into a sulking silence, mostly on Harry and Ginny's part. Neville seemed content to stare at his shoes, keeping a firm grip on his toad. Ginny took to alternately glancing at Harry and sighing huffily, as though she knew something that he didn't, and it was painfully obvious. Luna, for her part, immersed herself again in her magazine.

After some time, the door slid open yet again, and in came two Gryffindor fifth-years, a redheaded boy and a rather pretty brunette girl.

"I'm starving," sighed the redhead, stowing his owl next to the white one in the overhead rack, grabbing a Chocolate Frog from Harry and throwing himself into the seat next to him. He ripped open the wrapper, bit off the frog's head and leaned back with his eyes closed as though he had just swam across the English Channel.

"Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house," said the girl, looking rather dismayed about something as she took a seat. "Boy and girl from each."

"And guess who's a Slytherin prefect?" said the boy, still with his eyes closed.

"Malfoy," replied Harry at once, sounding as he did not much like this Malfoy person.

"Course," said his ginger friend bitterly, stuffing the rest of the Frog into his mouth and taking another.

"And that complete cow Pansy Parkinson," said the brunette rather waspishly. "How she got to be a prefect when she's thicker than a concussed troll…"

"Who's Hufflepuff?" Harry asked.

"Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott," said the redhead through his mouthgul of chocolate.

"And Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw," said the girl, though nobody had asked. Padma was in the year above Luna, in Ravenclaw as well.

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil," she decided to remind the redhead.

"Yeah, I know I did," he said, a bit perplexed at her knowledge.

"She didn't enjoy it very much," Luna informed him. "She doesn't think you treated her very well, because you wouldn't dance with her. I don't think I'd have minded," she added thoughtfully, "I don't like dancing very much." Did that sound too desperate? Well, it wasn't like she was hinting at anything. She simply didn't much care for traditional, formal dancing, where people stared if you flapped your arms unecessarily.

Luna resumed reading.

"We're supposed to patrol the corridors every so often," the redhead continued speaking, trying to resume the flow of conversation. "and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can't wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something."

"You're not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!" said the brunette shaply. What was she, his mother?

"Yeah, right, because Malfoy won't abuse it at all," returned the freckle-faced boy.

"So you're going to descend to his level?"

"No, I'm just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine."

"For heaven's sake, Ron -"

"I'll make Goyle do lines, it'll kill him, he hates writing," said the boy-Ron-happily. He lowered his voice to a grunt and, screwing up his face into a grimace of intense concentration, pretended to write in midair. "I… must… not… look… like… a… baboon's… backside."

Everyone laughed, but nobody laughed harder than Luna. She shrieked with delight, spooking the owls as well as the brunette's cat, dropping her Quibbler.

"That was funny!" Everyone else had started laughing again too, but now at the expression on Ronald's face.

"Are you taking the mickey?" said Ron, frowning at her.

"Baboon's… backside!" she choked, holding her ribs.

"Can I have a look at this?" Harry asked Luna eagerly. She glanced at him; he'd been reading the cover of the Quibbler.

She nodded, still eyeing Ron and fighting back giggles.

Harry began leafing through the magazine, his brows knitted.

"Anything good in there?" asked Ron as Harry closed the magazine.

"Of course not," said the brunette girl condescendingly, before Harry could answer. "The Quibbler's rubbish, everyone knows that." Luna doubted very much whether she'd actually ever read it, the stupid snob.

"Excuse me," said Luna quickly. "My father's the editor."

"I - oh," said Hermione, looking embarrassed. "Well, it's got some interesting… I mean, it's quite…"

"I'll have it back, thank you," said Luna coldly, and leaning forwards she snatched it out of Harry's hands. Turning back to the runes on page fifty-seven, she turned it upside-down again and resumed reading, just as the compartment door opened yet again.

"What?" said Harry aggressively, and Luna peeked over the magazine. Three boys had entered-two thickset and dull-looking, the third pale and blonde and smirking.

"Manners, Potter, or I'll have to give you a detention," drawled the blonde boy with an air of relish. "You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments."

"Yeah," said Harry, "but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone."

Ron, the still-unnamed brunette, Ginny and Neville laughed. The blonde boy sneered at them, trying to regain his footing.

"Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?" he asked.

"Shut up, Malfoy," said the brunette sharply.

"I seem to have touched a nerve," returned the blonde, smirking again. "Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I'll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line."

"Get out!" said Hermione, standing up.

The three Slytherins left, and Hermione slammed the compartment door, looking anxiously at Harry.

"Chuck us another Frog," said Ron, who had clearly noticed nothing.

The rest of the ride mainly passed in silence. Once darkness fell and the lamps lit themselves, Luna stowed her Quibbler in her clothes and took to observing her seatmates. Harry was sitting with his forehead pressed against the train window, obviously deep in thought.

"We'd better change," decided the brunette, and all of them dug in their belongings and, with some difficulty, tugged their robes on. She and Ron pinned Gryffindor prefects' badges to their fronts, Ron tugging on his robes while checking his reflection in the window.

At last, the train began its long skid to an eventual halt, and Ron and the brunette, whose name Luna now remembered was Hermione Granger, left to supervise the disembarking.

"I'll carry that owl, if you like, " said Luna to Harry, reaching for Ron's little gray owl.

"Oh - er - thanks, " said Harry, handing her the cage and lifting Hedwig's more securely into his arms.

Harry turned round, appearing to be looking for something. A brisk, older female voice was calling out, "First years line up over here, please! All first-years to me!"

A lantern came swinging towards them and by its light Luna saw the prominent chin and severe haircut of Professor Grubbly-Plank, the witch who had taken over Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures lessons for a while the previous year, which had been her first year in the class.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry wondered aloud.

"I don't know," said Ginny, "but we'd better get out of the way, we're blocking the door."

"Oh, yeah…"

Ginny left them as they made their way to the threstral-bound carriages that would take them to the school. The road outside Hogsmeade Station was drenched with rain, and Luna picked up her robes so she wouldn't get the hems wet. Harry didn't seem to notice she was still behind him, and she felt no real need to remind him.

Here stood the hundred or so stagecoaches, pulled by creatures called threstrals, which, like Luna, were a strange, misunderstood sort of being. If she had had to give them a name, she supposed she would have called them horses, though there was something reptilian about them, too. They were completely fleshless, their black coats clinging to their skeletons, of which every bone was visible. Their heads were dragonish, and their pupil-less eyes white and staring. Wings sprouted from each wither - vast, black leathery wings that looked as though they ought to belong to giant bats. Standing still and quiet in the gathering gloom, the creatures looked eerie and sinister.

"Where's Pig?" said Ron's voice, right behind them.

"That Luna girl was carrying him," said Harry, turning to face his freckly friend. Luna felt the oddest sensation when he said her name. A funny, jumping feeling in her gut, like she had missed a step going down stairs. "Where d'you reckon -"

"- Hagrid is? I dunno," said Ron, sounding worried. "He'd better be okay…" Luna wondered why they cared; Hagrid wasn't exactly a very good teacher, from her experience. He was rather bumbling and unprofessional.

Hermione emerged from the crowded platform and addressed her two friends. "Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first-year back there. I swear I'm going to report him, he's only had his badge three minutes and he's using it to bully people worse than ever…where's Crookshanks?"

"Ginny's got him," said Harry. "There she is…" Ginny had just emerged from the crowd, clutching a squirming, fluffy ginger cat, whom Luna assumed must be Crookshanks.

"Thanks," said Hermione, relieving Ginny of the cat. "Come on, let's get a carriage together before they all fill up…"

"I haven't got Pig yet!" Ron said, seemingly oblivious of Luna still behind them. but Hermione was already heading off towards the nearest unoccupied coach. Harry remained behind with Ron and, though he didn't know it, Luna.

"What are those things, d'you reckon?" Harry wondered aloud, lifting his chin in the general direction of a threstral.

"What things?"

"Those horse -"

Just then, Ron's owl caught sight of him and began to twitter with evident glee. Both boys turned and noticed Luna, finally. Not wanting to appear as though she'd been following them, Luna pretended as though she'd just walked up.

"Here you are," she said. "He's a sweet little owl, isn't he?"

"Er… yeah… he's all right," said Ron gruffly. "Well, come on then, let's get in… what were you saying, Harry?"

"I was saying, what are those horse things?" Harry said, as he, Ron and Luna made for the carriage in which Hermione and Ginny were already sitting.

"What horse things?"

"The horse things pulling the carriages!" said Harry impatiently. Luna tried to speak up and explain why Ron didn't see them, but the pair ignored her.

"What are you talking about?" Ron was becoming frustrated at Harry's seeming insanity.

"I'm talking about - look!" Harry grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him directly in front of the nearest threstral. Ron apparently stared straight at it, then frowned at Harry, utterly perplexed.

"What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"At the - there, between the shafts! Harnessed to the coach! It's right there in front..." But as Ron continued to look bemused, Harry appeared to understand.

"Can't… can't you see them?"

"See what?"

"Can't you see what's pulling the carriages?" Ron looked seriously alarmed now.

"Are you feeling all right, Harry?"

"I… yeah…"

"Shall we get in, then?" said Ron uncertainly, looking at Harry as though worried about him.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Yeah, go on…"

"It's all right," said Luna as Ron climbed into the stagecoach. "You're not going mad or anything. I can see them, too."

"Can you?" said Harry desperately, turning to Luna. He looked seriously into her eyes, and goosebumps rose up along her spine.

"Oh, yes," said Luna, "I've been able to see them ever since my first day here. They've always pulled the carriages. Don't worry. You're just as sane as I am." With what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Luna clambered into the carriage after Ron, and, after a moment of thought, Harry followed.


	3. Celebrated Sourly

****DISCLAIMER**: **These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.

Harry entered the carriage and slammed the door, flopping down into a seat and gazing gloomily out the window.  
>"Did everyone see that Grubbly-Plank woman?" asked Ginny. "What's she doing back here? Hagrid can't have left, can he?"<p>

"I'll be quite glad if he has," said Luna, "he isn't a very good teacher, is he?"

"Yes, he is!" said Harry, Ron and Ginny angrily.

Harry glared at Hermione. She cleared her throat and quickly said, "Erm… yes… he's very good."

"Well, we in Ravenclaw think he's a bit of a joke," said Luna, unfazed.

"You've got a rubbish sense of humor then," Ron snapped, as the wheels below them creaked into motion.

Luna frowned to herself but let no emotion change her face, and simply stared at Ronald until he seemed to feel uncomfortable.

The carriages moved in a line towards the dark spires of Hogwarts, like an army of heliopaths, never breaking formation. Once they stuttered to a halt, Harry leapt out immediately, peering towards the Forbidden Forest.

"Are you coming or what?" said Ron beside him.

"Oh… yeah," said Harry quickly and they joined the crowd hurrying up the stone steps into the castle.

The Entrance Hall was well-lit with enchanted torches that would neither burn out nor catch fire. A lonely moth, taking refuge from the downpour, fluttered from torch to torch, dismayed that it could not burn. Luna departed Harry and company and left to find herself a seat at the Ravenclaw table before all the more worn and thus more comfortable spots on the bench were taken.

As was her wont, Luna took to staring around the room, observing nearly everything about whatever happened to interest her. Her unrelenting gaze alighted upon Dumbledore's star-spangled plum robes and hat, Hagrid's absence, the floating candles. It was then, staring open-mouthed at the ceiling, wondering how wax was prevented from dripping down on the students, that a sixth-year next to her jabbed her in the ribs, disturbing her reverie.

"Loony." Why, Luna thought, had people decided that it was appropriate to assign her such a cruel nickname? She was no more loony than anyone else, perhaps even less so. She turned to the older boy and stared at him in her unnerving way.  
>"Yes?"<br>"New teacher?" With some difficulty, Luna pieced together his broken English and followed his line of sight, all the while lamenting his lack of ability to string together entire sentences. He was staring at Dumbledore, or, rather, the unpleasantly squat witch speaking to him. She was decked out in hot pink, from her cardigan to her headband.

The sixth-year elbowed her in the ribs again. "Oi, Loony! Speak!"  
>Luna reluctantly shifted her gaze back onto the boy. "Yes, I suppose she must be a new teacher," she said patiently, sliding half a foot down the bench to escape his bony blows. "After all, Professor Moody chose not to come back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Perhaps his own trunk wasn't cozy enough lodgings for him."<p>

The sixth-year boy stared at her for a moment, eyebrows raised, before returning to his conversation with Cho Chang, the girl Harry fancied.

Then came the Sorting Hat's song and the Sorting, neither of which Luna paid much attention to. Although even she noticed that the song was different this year; a warning, rather than a cute instruction on what the Houses stood for. It was probably only to be expected; there was now, after all, a war going on.

"To our newcomers," said the Headmaster, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace them all, "welcome! To our old hands - welcome back! There is a time for speechmaking, but this is not it. Tuck in!" There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause from the hungry, hungry Hogwartians as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate. For it had begun, the long-awaited start-of-term feast that Luna had waited all summer for. Daddy's cooking wasn't bad, exactly; rather, it was different. One couldn't find simple classics such as roast lamb, shephard's pie, and sauteed vegetables at the Lovegoods' dinner table. So it was with gusto that Luna dug into her food, silently thanking the Hogwarts house-elves.  
>Once students and staff alike had had their fill of the hearty spread, Dumbledore rose once more to his feet.<br>"Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices," said Dumbledore. "First-years ought to know that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students - and a few of our older students ought to know by now, too." There was some scattered laughter. "Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred-and-sixty second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch's office door.  
>"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."<br>There was some scattered applause; most people seemed apprehensive of Umbridge's disturbing appearance, and were, perhaps, doubting her ability as a teacher.  
>Dumbledore continued, "Tryouts for the house Quidditch teams will take place on the -" He stopped abruptly, looking askance at Umbridge. As she was so portly, she was not much taller standing than sitting, Luna hadn't even noticed that she had forsaken her seat.<br>Dumbledore, for his part, looked innocently surprised, then sat down smartly and watched Umbridge, as though he sought nothing more than what she had to say. The other staff members were less collected, exchanging looks of disbelief.  
>"Thank you, Headmaster," Professor Umbridge began, "for those kind words of welcome." Her voice was squeaky and breathy, and didn't much suit her toadlike face. "Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!" She smiled, as if to ensure that nobody doubted how oddly pointed her teeth were. "And to see such happy little faces looking up at me!"<br>Luna did not see any happy faces. Disbelieving ones, condescending ones, perplexed ones, but no happy ones.  
>"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all and I'm sure we'll be very good friends!" Here came the happy faces; several students grinned at this little announcement. Umbridge cleared her throat and began again, sounding much more businesslike, as if her saccharine introduction had merely been an act. And perhaps it had, at that.<br>"The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them for ever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching." Professor Umbridge paused here and bowed minutely to her colleagues, none of whom returned the gesture. Professor McGonagall, in particular, looked positively angry.  
>"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…"<br>Luna gave up entirely here, having got the gist of the speech; Fudge, goblin-murderer that he was, had decided to stick his nose into Hogwart's, and by extension Dumbledore's, business. She pulled her _Quibbler_ from her robes and began to read again.  
>And yet, the old hag droned on, seemingly oblivious to the disinterest of her listeners. "… because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited."<br>She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though seemingly only out of politeness. None of them looked either surprised or impressed at Umbridge's speech. Dumbledore stood, once again commanding their attention in a way Umbridge was incapable of mastering.  
>"Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating," he said, bowing to her. "Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held…" Luna stopped listening; she had never been fond of Quidditch. Watching it, she adored, but she was so clumsy it was best to keep both her feet firmly on the ground.<br>A swell of noise and a scraping of benches informed Luna that the Headmaster had dismissed them, and she stowed her magazine in her robes once again, wandering after the prefects in search of the Ravenclaw common room.  
>Luna heard neither the question nor the answer, but a Prefect got it right on his first try, and the flood of blue-clad Ravenclaws was permitted to enter. She adored the common room, with its starry garb and overstuffed bookcases. Bleary-eyed with sleep, Luna descended the staircase to her dormitory, flopped into the bed with her trunk at the foot, and was promptly fast asleep, unincluded in the summer stories of her roommates.<p> 


	4. Dedicated Dourly

**Chapter 4**

****DISCLAIMER**:**These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.

And thanks to Leamu and JG for my first reviews :3  
>Like I said before, I'm not going to update until each new chapter gets a couple reviews. There's no point in continuing if nobody wants to read it! I'm glad you guys seem to like it so far.<p>

Luna woke early the next morning from restless sleep, despite her exhaustion the night before, and made her solitary way down to breakfast. She took her place among the other early risers, and joined their predawn actions, the peculiar tics of the restless. Picking at toast, slumping forward on folded hands, blinking the crust of sleep from their eyes, Hogwart's insomniacs were all familiar with each other, though they never spoke, as an unspoken rule.  
>Among the Ravenclaws, there were four seventh-years, two sixth-years, three fifth-years, one fourth year—Luna—and no third, second, or first years. Others were dotted along the other three House tables, but, in their sleep-deprived fog, none of them really saw one another.<br>Eventually, the rest of the students began filling in the tables, eager for breakfast and classes. Luna, for her part, was a bit excited to discover that she had two classes with Harry Potter: Different years usually didn't have lessons together, but Luna was in two classes with just fifth-years, due to her advanced knowledge of the subjects, and would be taking those two O.W.L.s a year early.  
>For the life of her, Luna could not fathom her inexplicable fascination with him. She remembered in her first year when everyone had thought he'd been killing off students, and then how he proved them wrong, slaying the monster that lurked in the Chamber of Secrets. And then, her second year, when it was rumored that Sirius Black (or, more appropriately, Stubby Boardman) was after him, and then Black had been caught, but had escaped… well, it was certainly whispered that Harry had somehow helped. Black was his godfather, and the Ministry was wrong about his being a murderer, in any case.<br>Then last year, her third and his fourth, Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard Tournament, meant only for those students who were of age, and yet, somehow, Harry found himself in the thick of things as usual… and, though Cedric Diggory, a much older and more accomplished student, had died, Harry had lived on….  
>Luna was so preoccupied with her musings that she almost didn't hear it when they were dismissed for lessons, and she had to scramble to get her bag in order. First was Herbology with the Gryffindors, then Care of Magical Creatures with Slytherin. The weather was petulant and gray, but the temperature mild; all in all, not a bad morning to spend outside.<p>

Herbology was nice: Since it was with the Gryffindors, Luna was partnered with Ginny, so nobody made fun of her. They knew better than to mess with Ginny's temper.  
>However, there was a single awkward moment; Ginny mentioned Harry and, despite her efforts, Luna blushed faintly. Ginny smirked knowingly.<br>"Got an eye for famous boys, Luna?"  
>Luna shook her head and pretended to be absorbed in puncturing a particularly stubborn swelling on her bubotuber plant. She succeeded, spraying herself and her red-haired partner with pus, thus successfully ending that touchy conversation.<br>Care of Magical Creatures was much better than usual: Professor Grubbly-Plank was a much better teacher than Hagrid, the bumbling half-giant. While he was loveable in his awkward way, Grubbly-Plank was brisk and precise, covering lessons much more quickly. They were learning to care for bowtruckles, a creature Grubbly-Plank informed them that she normally wouldn't introduce until fifth year; but she was wise and canny, and knew that they'd need O.W.L. year for more challenging subjects.  
>Back in the Great Hall for lunch, Luna eagerly tucked in to her lamb chops, roast potatoes, and sprouts; working outdoors made one unusually ravenous, as Luna had noticed on various holidays with her father. They had a trip to Sweden planned this very summer to search for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and she realized that if a morning of classes outdoors tired her out, she'd better work to get her endurance up.<br>As the bell rang for afternoon Lessons, Luna stood just in time to see—who else?—Harry Potter and his friend Ron, who Luna now realized was Ginny's older brother. There were so many Weasley siblings; it was hard to keep count. Curiously, the pair was missing their ever-present friend Hermione Granger. Luna wasn't at all worried that she fancied Harry; from just their body language on the train this morning, even Luna had been able to tell that Ron and Hermione fancied each other. Harry was unfettered by the follies of romance, it seemed.  
>Luna was beginning to want to change that.<p>

Her next class was Divination, a class she herself thought was silly in theory, but vastly interesting, the way religions rarely made sense but were certainly fascinating to study. The lesson passed in a blur of heavy, musky incense, red-tinted light, and Professor Trelawney's inane whispering about "_deeeeaaaathhh ooomennsssss_." Right. Luna hardly paid attention to the movement of the planets, or how it supposedly would affect her. Luna, you see, did not put any stock in the idea of fate. She believed that you must create your own destiny. And she planned to do just that… perhaps tonight at dinner. Perhaps.  
>Last class before dinner was Defense Against the Dark Arts, which, with permission from Professor Flitwick, Luna would be taking her O.W.L. a year early in, as well as Charms. As a result of her excelled abilities in those two classes, she was taking them with fifth-years, who were also taking O.W.L.s in those classes.<br>As she entered the classroom, dead last, Luna observed that Professor Umbridge was seated behind her desk, not standing as most teachers tended to begin lessons. She was wearing the same fuchsia cardigan from the night before, as well as a tacky little black bow, like a gnat or a blackfly perched on the skull of an unnaturally-coloured toad.  
>With a waspish glare at Luna for being last, Professor Umbridge, still seated, spoke to her class for the first time.<p>

"Well, good afternoon!" she said.

There were a few halfhearted responses of "good afternoon," but mostly the class stayed silent.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they recited without sincerity.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge in the same sickly-sweet way she'd begun her speech the night before. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

At this, downcast looks were exchanged; what interesting lesson had been done without wants? Sticking her stubby fingers in her purse, Professor Umbridge pulled out her curiously short want and rapped it smartly on the blackboard. Words appeared at once: 

**Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles  
><strong>

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" said Professor Umbridge, turning once more to face the class. Luna considered that statement to be rather rude; Professors Moody and Lupin had both been excellent teachers, in her opinion. Lockhart had some room to improve, but everyone does. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year.

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year.

Copy down the following, please." She tapped the blackboard a second time, which at once wiped itself clean and began marking itself anew.

**Course Aims:**

**1. Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.**

**2. Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.**

**3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.**

Luna, for her part, was quite perplexed at these aims; while they were straightforward and direct, they seemed to be missing a number four: learning to use defensive spells.

For several minutes, sound was scarce save for the gentle scratching of quills on parchment. Once most people had finished copying down the course aims, Professor Umbridge asked them, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a lackluster mumbling of affirmation. Luna was half-tempted to say no, though she had the book.  
>I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"<p>

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," the students chanted obediently.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

She settled down behind her desk and took to watching them all unnervingly closely, as though trying to sense possible future malcontents. Luna, not wanting to be caught in her rebellious thoughts, opened her textbook and began to read.

The text was so horribly boring that Luna soon stopped reading and began filling in the margins with bat-winged dragons and thestrals, simple flowered vines, and the elusive Crimple-Horned Snorkack. She was just beginning to redefine the spirals in its horn when she became aware of a feeling of unease in the room. Looking up, she noticed that, beside where Harry sat in the first row, Hermione Granger had taken it upon herself to neglect opening her book, and instead was staring directly at Professor Umbridge as though transfixed, her hand straight in the air. It became apparent that she had been sitting this way for several minutes, for more than half the class was already watching her rather than the neat black letters in their textbooks. At last, Professor Umbridge seemed to understand that she could ignore Hermione no longer, and she spoke.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, and Luna suppressed a shudder at the simpering term of endearment. She guessed that Professor Umbridge was not married.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge with a forced smile. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge's smile vanished, replaced by a tiny frown and a creased brow.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione Granger.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge, attempting to undermine Hermione's intelligence.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione, frank and unapologetic. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

Those listening—there were perhaps three or four dedicated students staring resolutely at their books, trying desperately to ignore the interruption—turned to face the board, frowning at the words written there.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge mimicked with a cruel little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

_Well no, but aren't classes supposed to prepare you for the real world?_ thought Luna.

"We're not going to use magic?" Ronald Weasley interrupted.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr. -?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, her smile returning, promptly turned her back on him. Harry Potter and his friend Hermione immediately raised their hands.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?" asked Professor Umbridge, without turning around.

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defense Against the Dark Arts is to practice defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her idiotic, simpering, preschool-teacher's voice.

"No, but -"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the 'whole point' of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new program of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way -"

"What use is that?" interrupted Harry, loudly talking over her. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a -"

"Hand, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge in a singsong voice.

Harry obeyed, sticking his fist forcefully into the air, and Professor Umbridge turned her back yet again. But now several more hands had risen, like the rare, fast-growing trees native to a small birch forest in Iceland.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to a tall African-American boy, a Gryffindor.  
>"Dean Thomas."<p>

"Well, Mr. Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free."

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but -"

Professor Umbridge interrupted rudely, cutting across Dean. "I do not wish to criticize the way things have been run in this school," she said, a smile that said the opposite stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," put in Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever -"

"Hand, Mr. Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day -"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just -"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione put up her hand yet again, and yet again Professor Umbridge turned her back.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean angrily. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr. Thomas!" shouted Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about.

"And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge with an air of finality.

"Without ever practicing them beforehand?" said Parvati disbelievingly. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough -"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

Professor Umbridge looked up.

"This is school, Mr. Potter, not the real world," she said softly. Luna didn't see much of a difference. School wasn't a dream; it was plenty real

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr. Potter."

"Oh, yeah?" Harry was becoming visibly furious.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge, her voice saccharine.

"Hmm, let's think…" said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice."Maybe… Lord Voldemort?"

Ronald gasped; a Gryffindor girl screamed; Neville Longbottom, the other boy from the train, slipped sideways off of his seat. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry, triumph etched across her toadlike face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter."

Nobody spoke. Every eye in the room was fixated on the pair of them.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead -"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

'"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr. Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly.

"Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, _this is a lie_. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him. Luna didn't dare breathe.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

Every single person in the room, it seemed to Luna, gasped.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said cruelly.

"It was murder," said Harry. His voice shook very slightly. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."

For a moment, nobody was sure if Professor Umbridge was going to scream at him, or strike him, or curse him. She looked positively evil. Instead, she said sweetly, "Come here, Mr. Potter, dear."

He kicked his chair aside with a clatter and strode up to her desk. There was a short silence as she scribbled furiously.

"Take this to Professor McGonagall, dear," said Professor Umbridge, holding out a note to him. He took it from her without saying a word, turned on his heel and left the room, and slammed the door without looking back. Luna's heart hurt.


	5. Clam, Crab, Cockle, Cowry

**Chapter 5  
><strong>****DISCLAIMER**:**These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.  
><strong>AN: **Woohoo, reviews! I'm so happy you guys seem to like it. I'm sorry this took so long!

"Clam, crab, cockle, cowry; oh, would you just look at me?" – Joanna Newsom

(Clams, crabs, cockles, and cowries are all creatures that hide in shells. I especially like this title because Luna lives in a shell, and in my opinion she's frantic to scream "would you just look at me?")

That night at dinner, Harry still looked furious. He practically threw himself onto the Gryffindor table bench between Ronald and Hermione. But who could blame him? He'd had a teacher force lies on his fellow students, and now it seemed he'd gotten detentions for it. Luna was beginning to positively loathe this Umbridge woman. Unsurprising, seeing as how she worked for Fudge. And everyone knew what a monster _he _was.

Hermione looked worried, while Ron simply looked murderous. Luna longed to approach them and attempt to console Harry, but she dared not. Instead, she waited until Harry had finished picking at his dinner and left for detention, when she rose from her seat and dashed after him.  
>He was walking so fast that running became necessary, but she soon caught up with him in the entrance hall just in front of the great House point hourglasses, snatching his arm and planting her feet. Harry wheeled around, took her in with his dead eyes, and started to speak. "Luna, I don't have time for—"<p>

Luna interrupted. "You look like the most miserable person in the world," she said, trying to sound gentle.

Harry, still trying unsuccessfully to free his wrist from her grasp, looked nonplussed. "I… yeah, Luna. I'm pretty miserable." He seemed to merely be trying to humor her. She sidled closer to him, keeping her eyes on the ground.  
>"Well, Harry," she started. "That may very well be the work of—"<p>

"Luna," said Harry quickly. "I don't want to hear about whatever mad theory you have for this. I know who's causing this, and if I don't hurry, I'll be late for her detention."

"I see," said Luna, feeling quite small. She released his wrist and made to turn away, then stopped, leaned in, and softly kissed Harry Potter's neck. She then promptly turned on her heel and bolted, running in a random direction to who-knew-where.

Luna ended up slipping through a side passageway and onto the sweeping lawns of Hogwarts, heading slowly in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. It was already becoming quite chilly in the evenings, causing her hairless cat Andersen to spend most of his time curled up in her dormitory.

She was unable to explain to herself why she had kissed Harry. Although she had been an avid lover of fairy stories as a child, she hardly believed in love at first sight. And it certainly wasn't _lust_—no, it was far too innocent for that. Perhaps, mused Luna, gazing up at her namesake with her usual curious fire, it was because she felt he needed saving.

She had always cried so much as a child. If she stepped on an insect, she would burst into tears and hold it a funeral. Funny thing—she was always crying so much as a child, she had never done it for herself. She liked being the hero, not the damsel in distress. So perhaps Harry was the cursed princess, locked away in a tower, held there by a dragon. She was presented with a mental image of Harry in a frilly pink dress, and she giggled.

An owl hooted farther off, and Luna tugged at her robes against the wind. Standing in the center of the pitch, she had a good view of the Defense Against the Dark Arts department. Only one window was lit, and, since everyone else was likely still at dinner, she assumed it must be Umbridge's office, and thus that golden square represented Harry.


	6. Fortune Finds Me Fit and Able

Chapter 6

The next morning, breakfast was awkward. There was honestly no better way to say it. Luna hid from Harry and his ever-present friends Ronald and Hermione, sure that he had told them and they'd all had a big laugh about it. Loony Lovegood thought she could just kiss the famous Harry Potter, the Boy who Lived? What a joke. How absurd.

Time passed—months—with no incident, and Luna was both relieved and heartbroken. The Boy who Lived—the boy she loved—had utterly no reaction to what had transpired that night. Luna had all but given up on Harry, until Ginny approached her at the Ravenclaw table one morning sometime before Christmas.

"Luna?" Ginny had stopped by where Luna sat, thoroughly engrossed in a letter from her father that he had tucked for her into the most recent issue of the _Quibbler. _Luna looked up with reluctance, then slid down a bit on the bench so her friend could have a seat.

Ginny began again. "Luna… how much have you been learning in Umbridge's DADA lessons?"

Luna considered this. "Well, I was expecting them to be challenging, seeing as how I skipped a year to be ahead. Instead, they're quite dull. My third-year lessons with Moody were more challenging than these ones meant for fifth-years."

Ginny looked delighted. "How would you like to have a _real_ teacher? One who was competent enough to ensure that you pass your O.W.L.s?"

Again, Luna pondered for a moment before replying. "Well… yes, I suppose I would like that. Yes, I think I'd like that very much, in fact…. Who do you have in mind?"

Ginny said nothing, but Luna followed her gaze back to the Gryffindor table, to where a certain dark-haired boy sat, looking conspiratorially at his two best friends. Luna smiled to herself.

"When and where, Ginny?"

"Hog's Head, next Hogsmeade weekend. You know where that is, right? It's all the way past—"

"Oh, yes," Luna interrupted. "I know where it is."

"Can I count on seeing you there?"

Luna thought hard to herself. When she had trouble deciding things, she often made a little mental list. Cons: they could get in trouble, it could be a complete waste of time… she'd have to see Harry. Pros: she _did_ need to pass her O.W.L.s, it would feel good to pass something over on Umbridge… she'd get to see Harry. "Yes," she said slowly, thoughtfully. "Yes, count on seeing me."

Ginny grinned, thinking that Luna's delayed responses were part of her usual dreaminess. "Brilliant," she said happily, rising to go. "Brilliant. I'll let… the others… know."

Her lack of a name, coupled with her slight pause, led Luna to believe that Ginny would be informing Harry Potter of her attendance to his lessons. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted that.


	7. I Thank His Sword

Chapter 7

****DISCLAIMER**:**These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.

"So I thank the Lord, and I thank His sword, though it be mincing up the morning, slightly bored." – Joanna Newsom

Next Hogsmeade weekend, Luna dressed warmly in jeans and an enormous woolen sweater that her father had knitted for her. She pulled on an old pair of his Wellingtons and thought she was good to go, for once checking her hair in her wardrobe mirror. Usually she didn't give time for such frivolities.

After arriving in Hogsmeade, Luna discovered that she was rather earlier than the agreed-on time, and so decided to wander the shops. She looked distractedly through bookstores and trinket shops, not liking to leave empty handed, before settling on a pretty blown-glass bottle with a contoured stopper, also blown-glass. After paying, she slipped the bottle into her pocket, pondering about what she could put in it.

After deciding that she had wasted enough time, Luna made her way down to the Hog's Head, relieved to discover that Harry, Ronald, their friend Hermione Granger, and five other Gryffindors in their year were already present. The boy she had met on the train was there, Neville, along with a tall black boy and three girls, two of them twins. Also present was a sixth-year Ravenclaw, a Chinese girl, the one Harry fancied, and a redhead who was clearly her friend.

More people began arriving soon after Luna found a seat. Two female sixth-year Gryffindors, along with two small, mousy-haired boys who were likely also in Gryffindor. Then four Hufflepuffs in their fifth year, three Ravenclaw boys (also fifth-years) whom she thought might be called Anthony Goldstein, Michael Corner and Terry Boot. Then, to Luna's delight, Ginny, followed closely by a blonde boy, a Hufflepuff. Lastly, two of Ron's older brothers—twins—and a dreadlocked boy who must have been a friend of theirs, all carrying Zonko's bags. Completed, the large group contained no Slytherins.

"A couple of people?" said Harry hoarsely to one of his companions (Luna couldn't see who). "A couple of people?"

"Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular," answered Hermione happily, "Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?"

"Hi," said one of the Weasley twins, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly, "could we have… twenty-five Butterbeers, please?"

The barman, who strongly reminded Luna of Headmaster Dumbledore, glanced at Fred before beginning to pull out dusty bottles of Butterbeer from under the bar.

"Cheers," said the Weasley boy—Fred, handing them out. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these…" Luna didn't either, but several people gave more than their share, and she accepted the bottle gratefully.

Harry and Hermione had a small whispered exchange, interrupted swiftly by Neville, the king of bad timing. "Hi, Harry," said Neville, beaming and taking a seat opposite the dark-haired boy.

Luna, for her part, determinedly stared at everyone and everything but Harry. Once the chatter had settled down, Hermione Granger got to her feet. Sensing that this speech would be long-winded, Luna removed her Wellies and set them under her chair, regretfully wishing that she had worn socks.

"Er," said Hermione, seeming a bit nervous. "Well - er - hi."

The group, which had mostly been focused on Harry, turned its collective attention to her instead.

"Well… erm… well, you know why you're here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea - I mean" (Harry had thrown her a sharp look) "I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us -" (Hermione's voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident). "- because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts -" ("Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened) "- Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands."

She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, "And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells -"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?" said Michael Corner, who was watching her closely.

"Of course I do," said Hermione at once. "But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defense because… because…" she took a great breath and finished, "because Lord Voldemort is back."

The reaction to her use of the forbidden name was instantaneous, but also, Luna thought, only to be expected. Chang's friend shrieked and slopped Butterbeer down herself; Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch; a Gryffindor fifth-year shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, continued to gaze at Harry.

"Well… that's the plan, anyway" said Hermione. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to-"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said the blond Hufflepuff boy in a rather aggressive voice.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it -" Hermione began.

"You mean, Dumbledore believes him," said the blond boy, nodding at Harry.

"Who are you?" said Ronald bluntly.

"Zacharias Smith," said the boy, "and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."

"Look," said Hermione, intervening swiftly, "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about -"

"It's okay, Hermione," said Harry.

Something seemed to have come to Harry: perhaps he'd been bitten by an Epiphitot—they tended to inflict sudden insight. "What makes me say You-Know-Who's back?" he repeated, looking Zacharias straight in the face. "I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

Nobody moved or spoke, until Smith, the blonde Hufflepuff, decided to continue his ignorance, saying dismissively, "All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know -"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you," Harry snarled. His temper seemed close to boiling point. "I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

Nobody moved.

"So," said Hermione, her voice returned to its earlier nervousness. "So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet and where we're going to -"

"Is it true," interrupted the Hufflepuff fifth-year with braided hair, looking at Harry, "that you can produce a Patronus?"

"Yeah," said Harry slightly defensively.

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Er - you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" he asked.

The girl smiled.

"She's my auntie," she said. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Blimey, Harry!" said the Weasley twins' friend, looking deeply impressed. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred, grinning at Harry. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry, and a couple of people laughed.

"And did you kill a Basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" demanded Terry Boot. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year…"

"Er - yeah, I did, yeah," said Harry.

A fifth-year Hufflepuff boy whistled; the young Gryffindor brothers exchanged awestruck looks; and a female Gryffindor fifth-year—Lavender Brown, Luna thought—said "Wow" softly. Harry seemed to be nervous, and qas quite obviously trying not to look at the Chang girl. At this thought, Luna felt as though she'd been punched in the gut. She took to examining Neville instead, for he was speaking.

"And in our first year," said Neville to the group at large, "he saved that Philosophy Stone -"

"Philosopher's," hissed Hermione.

"Yes, that - from You-Know-Who," finished Neville.

Hannah Abbott's eyebrows crept toward her hairline in shock.

"And that's not to mention," said Chang (Luna's eyes snapped to her boots) "all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year - getting past dragons and merpeople and Acromantulas and things…"

"Look," he said, and everyone fell silent at once, " I… I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…"

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner at once. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying…"

"Yeah, well -" said Harry, seeming to want to disagree.

"And nobody helped you get rid of those Dementors this summer," said Susan Bones.

"No," said Harry, "no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is -"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias Smith.

"Here's an idea," said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

Zacharias flushed.

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," he said.

"That's not what he said," snarled Fred.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" enquired George, pulling a long and lethal looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko's bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.

"Yes, well," said Hermione hastily, "moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?"

There was muttered assent in the bar. Smith kept his mouth shut.

"Right," said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. "Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week -"

"Hang on," said a tall black girl, a sixth- or seventh-year Gryffindor, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Chang, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Zacharias Smith.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone," aid Hermione, slightly impatiently, "but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters -"

"Well said!" barked a fifth-year Hufflepuff boy pompously. "Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our OWLs coming up!" When nobody spoke, he went on, "I, personally am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher on us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know- Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells -"

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, "is that she's got some… some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

Everyone looked shocked, and Luna wondered why. When Ginny looked askance at her lack of surprise, she explained, "Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"What?" said Harry, seeming to forget their disastrous kiss those months ago. Luna's stomach seemed to be playing hopscotch.

"Yes, he's got an army of Heliopaths."

"No, he hasn't," snapped Hermione.

"Yes, he has," said Luna.

"What are Heliopaths?" asked Neville, looking blank.

"They're spirits of fire,"said Luna, holding her hands up like claws and widening her eyes for effect, "great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of -"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione tartly.

"Oh, yes, they do!" said Luna angrily.

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?" snapped Hermione.

Forgetting that Harry was even there, Luna turned furiously to the other girl. "There are plenty of eye-witness accounts. Just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you -"

Ginny cleared her through, sounding so much like Umbridge that everyone looked round, forgetting the conflict. Luna settled down into her seat, crossing her arms.

"Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and have defense lessons?" asked Ginny.

"Yes," said Hermione at once, "yes, we were, you're right, Ginny."

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.

"As long as -" began the Gryffindor girl again.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch," said Hermione in a tense voice. "Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet…"

This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent.

"Library?" suggested a Gryffindor girl after a few moments.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry. Luna stifled a laugh.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.

"Yeah," said Ron, "McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard." Harry seemed to doubt the plausibility of this location.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," said Hermione. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting." She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.

"I - I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think," she took a deep breath, "that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge or anybody else what we're up to."

One of the Weasley twins reached out for the parchment and cheerfully wrote his signature, but even Luna, unacquainted with many of them as she was, could tell plainly that several people were less than happy to write their names down.

"Er…" said the blonde Smith quite hesitantly, pretending not to notice the sheaf of parchment, "well… I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."But his friend was looking rather hesitant about signing, too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

"I - well, we are prefects," Ernie, a fifth-year Hufflepuff burst out. "And if this list was found… well, I mean to say… you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out -"

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," Harry reminded him.

"I - yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that, it ' s just -"

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione testily.

"No. No, of course not," said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. "I - yes, of course I'll sign."

After everyone had signed—Luna's signature was upside down—one of the Weasley twins—Fred, she thought—spoke. "Well, time's ticking on," said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. "George, Lee and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later."

In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave, too. As Luna stood, she sadly noted that her father's boots had mysteriously vanished from beneath her seat. Nargles, perhaps….

Suddenly an idea skipped unbidden to the forefront of Luna's mind. After she too left the bar, but stood resolutely outside, hands folded behind her back, watching the stragglers through the grimy front window. Chang made quite a show of fastening the clasp on her bag, sneaking looks at Harry, but when her curly-haired companion stayed behind with her, the Chinese girl deemed it prudent to take her leave.

Harry, Ronald, and Hermione made their way into the twinkling sunlight, the latter two casting curious looks at Harry as he stopped before Luna. He gave them no explanation, merely shrugged, and they departed, looking curiously back at them.

Luna eyed Harry, attempting to appear serene as her heart bounded like a pursued hare. "Harry," she said quietly.

"Luna," he replied. _He said my name!_

"Do you need something?"

"Why are you standing outside…" he looked down. "…Barefoot? Luna, it's almost winter, where are your shoes?"

She offered him naught but a small smile, willing herself to seem confident, steadfast, anything but how she felt—which is to say, like a cold, scared little rabbit being eyed by a hungry fox. No, not a fox—some strange new animal, of unknown danger to her.

"Oh, my possessions seem to have developed the tricky habit of wandering off when I'm not looking," Luna told him, stepping delicately onto a patch of ground that looked less frosty, noting with a sickly mixture of nausea and glee that it took her closer to Harry. "I suspect Nargles are behind it."

Harry looked strangely curious. "And what are Nargles, exactly?"

"Mischievous little thieves who like to take things that seemed to be… cherished," Luna finished, feeling stupid.

"And you cherished your shoes?" Harry cocked one dark brow at her.

"Well, they were my father's, you see," she deliberated. "I cherish him, certainly."

Harry seemed to be fighting the urge to shake his head. "Luna… about that night, a couple weeks ago…"

Luna then felt the alarming sensation of her stomach seeming to vanish, and somehow, she didn't suspect Nargles this time. She quickly stepped around Harry and made for the school, noting with a curious combination of resentment, sadness, and grim satisfaction that Harry Potter did not follow.

**A/N: I feel really clever for mentioning Luna's Patronus. And also slightly pretentious. If you liked it, or you hated it, or it made your toenails grow abnormally fast, write me a review! **


	8. Feels so Good to be a Rose

**Chapter 8**

****DISCLAIMER**:**These are Ms. Rowling's toys, and I'm just playing with them. I promise I'll put them back when I'm done! I do quote her a lot, mostly in dialogue so as to retain accuracy.

I chew my lips, oh, and I scratch my nose; feels so good to be a rose." – Joanna Newsom 

Several months into lessons with Harry and the rest of "Dumbledore's Army," as they now called themselves, Luna was pleased to find that she had much to learn. Along with stunning, Luna was soon proficient in disarming, and Harry had announced that they might be trying the Patronus charm soon.

One snowy Sunday dawned to find Luna already awake as usual. She was up in the Owlery, searching for a school owl who wasn't too sleepy: She wanted to send a letter to her father.

Deciding upon a large barn owl who had just finished tearing at some small, bleeding carcass, Luna coaxed the bird down onto a lower perch, where she proceeded to tie her letter to his leg. She softly told him where to go, and he blinked his large dark eyes once before setting off. Luna sighed, leaning on the ledge of the window, straining her eyes in the dim, early lighting, hoping to glimpse a thestral returning from a nocturnal hunt.

Her efforts were rewarded: A handsome male, probably the alpha of the Hogwarts herd, descended towards the Forbidden forest in wide, lazy spirals, tucking his wings in at the last moment and plunging into the trees. Wide-eyed, Luna leaned forward even further, her mittens slipping on owl droppings, and felt her torso sliding, her hips finding no purchase on the stone ledge, and then she was falling—

Luna closed her eyes.

Just then, someone grasped both her ankles, hoisting her back into the cold room with a herculean effort. She collapsed into a heap under her rescuer, unhurt but badly shaken. She opened her eyes to realize that she was in fact nose-to-nose with none other than Harry Potter. Sudden warmth flooded her face. Harry awkwardly clambered to his feet, then offered her a helping hand. Brushing owl droppings off her, Harry smiled faintly and said, "You should be a bit more careful."

Luna laughed, still shaking a bit. "Yes, I suppose I'm lucky we both decided our letters were too urgent to wait for the sun to come up."

Harry held out his hands. "Actually, I think you're lucky that I haven't got gloves on, and your shoes were stolen, or else I don't think I could've gotten a good enough grip."

Luna awkwardly rubbed one ankle with the opposite foot, shrugging. "Well, yeah, that's… yeah. I should go, I have to get Umbridge's homework done. See you around, Harry." She started to go.

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "Luna, wait… your mouth is bleeding, you must've bitten your lip. Let me at least take you to the hospital wing."

She shook her head, shifting her weight uneasily. "No, I can take care of it." She pulled out her wand, pointed it smartly at her face, and said "Episkey." With a small popping sound, her split lip knitted itself together neatly, though her face was still bloody. "See? All better. Now, Harry, if you'll excuse me, I have to go—"

But Harry never found out what Luna had to go do, for at that moment, he leaned in and softly kissed Luna Lovegood's newly healed mouth, tasting blood as he did so. Luna's lips curved upwards in a small smile as she flung her arms around his neck, responding fervently.

After a moment, Luna stepped back, the smile still lighting her delicate features. For the first time, Harry noticed this: she had delicate features. Her face was soft somehow, like she had been dusted with confectioner's sugar. And now that he thought about it, he would not describe her eyes as 'protuberant;' they were really just wide, doe-like, really.

"That was nice, Harry," said Luna faintly. "We should—"

"Yeah, we should," said Harry, and he kissed her again.

There was a small gasp from somewhere near the doorway, and the two broke apart.

Ginny Weasley stood there, her small hands balled into fists at her sides, the right one twitching towards her wand.

Luna stepped towards her now-former friend, hands raised. "Ginny, I—"

"You said," snarled Ginny through gritted teeth, "that you didn't like Harry. You _lied_ to me!" She whipped out her wand and wordlessly fired a hex at Luna. However, aim was halfhearted, and both Luna and Harry managed to duck in time.

Luna regretfully yet quickly raised her own wand, shouting "_Expelliarmus!" _and neatly catching Ginny's wand. Harry approached his best friend's sister hesitantly, then, when she made no move to harm him, went to lay a hand on her shoulder. She knocked it away, wiping at her eyes.

"You're an awful friend, Luna. You too, Harry. You deserve each other, the pair of you." And with these bitter parting words, Ginny Weasley turned on her heel and fled down the stone steps, leaving Harry and Luna in an awkward silence.


	9. Bedraggled Ghost of a Sonnet

**Chapter 9**

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long! Also, I know there's never a lot of cute Luna/Harry moments, because I hate writing sex and I don't even really like writing kissing. It's just weird. J.K. doesn't do it, so I don't feel like I should either. So if you've only tagged along this far hoping for smut/lemon, then get out! Pervert!

"That vestal light, it burns out with the night, in spite of all the time that we spent on it: On one bedraggled ghost of a sonnet." – Joanna Newsom, "Inflammatory Writ"

Things seemed to fall into place after that. Potter the lying nutcase and Loony Lovegood—it was natural, really. Nobody was surprised: In fact, some people—such as Harry's intuitive friend Hermione—seemed to be _expecting _it.

Luna began spending evenings studying with Harry, Hermione and Ronald at the school library, and, when she had had some time to cool down, Ginny would sometimes join them, bringing along her newest boyfriend, Neville Longbottom. All in all, they were an amiable, happy group. Ginny, Hermione, Neville and Luna sat together during Quidditch matches; occasionally, Luna would join them for meals at the Gryffindor House table.

At the next D.A. meeting—which was also to be the last one before the Christmas holiday—Luna was first to arrive after Harry, and she noticed that the room was decorated for the holidays.

"Hello," she said sweetly to Harry, admiring the decorations. "These are nice, did you put them up?"

"No," said Harry, "it was Dobby the house-elf."

"Mistletoe," said Luna dreamily, pointing at a large clump of white berries placed almost over Harry's head. He jumped out from under it. "Good thinking," said Luna very seriously. "It's often infested with Nargles."

Harry just laughed, then resumed setting up cushions for the meeting.

Once everyone had arrived and settled down, Harry announced that they would be starting nothing new. This was meant with disapproval—specifically from Zacharias Smith, the obnoxious dissenter from the first meeting—but to Luna, it made sense; as Harry said, they were about to take a break for several weeks.

Luna, however, found the meeting to be productive: She succeeded in producing a tangible Patronus for the first time, which took the form of a hare. She wondered what that meant about herself. Family-oriented, a sharp listener, quick on her feet and thus quick mentally, nervous. In Chinese mythology, hares are associated with the moon (a nod to her name); in Greco-Roman mythology, they were associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, marriage, and fertility by being so abundant. Yes, the hare could symbolize any number of things, but as fertility was among them, Luna wondered if she might someday have a family of her own.

After the meeting, Luna lingered. Glancing at Harry, then Luna, Hermione and Ron took their leave, saying they would see Harry in the common room. Miss Chang took quite a long time doing absolutely nothing with the clasp of her robes, but eventually gave up and left as well.

Slowly the room emptied, and Luna approached Harry under the mistletoe.

Harry smiled and took his girlfriend in his arms. "They're going to take you," said she in a low voice, eyes down. He could have counted the pale freckles on her nose. Even without makeup, she was extraordinary.

"Who?"

"The nargles, of course."

"The… the nargles are going to take me? And why would they try to do that?" Harry looked nonplussed.

Luna laughed, finally meeting eyes with him. "Because I cherish you, silly." For the next several minutes, Harry showed her how much he cherished her as well.

Finally pulling away from him, Luna took his wrist and eyed his watch. "It's nearly nine," she said quietly. "We'll be in trouble if we don't leave soon."

Reluctantly, Harry agreed, and the two departed the Come and Go Room, holding hands and (on Luna's part) whistling.

"How d'you do that?" Harry interrupted.

"Whistle?"

"Yeah."

Luna stopped walking and put her fingers to Harry's mouth. "Move your lips like this—no, like _this—_Harry, _really—"_ He had stuck his tongue out and licked her fingers. Giggling, Luna attempted to regain her composure. "Do you want to learn or not, Har—"

"Well, well, _well_," a gleeful voice interrupted. "What have we here?"

The young couple whipped around to find none other than Argus Filch, his faithful feline companion at his heels. "Students, out of bed?" He said sarcastically. "And engaged in illicit activities, no less. You'll be coming with me, then." He seized a wrist from each of them and dragged them off down the corridor, Mrs. Norris meowing happily in their wake.

As they were in separate Houses, Luna wondered which teacher Filch would take them to, McGonagall or Flitwick. To her surprise, Filch led them to the DADA department, to Umbridge's office. Despite the late hour, she sat behind her desk, neatly sipping a cup of tea.

Filch forced them each into one of the hard wooden chairs facing the desk, then stood back. "You told me to come to you, Professor," he began sweetly, "if I found any more students near that corridor. I found these two engaged in illicit activities right near there."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch," Umbridge simpered. "I can handle them from here, I should think." The caretaker took his leave, and she turned her baleful eyes upon the two young students. "Mr. Filch said illicit activities," she said, narrowing her eyes. What were you doing?"

"We—" Luna began hesitantly, looking askance at Harry.

"—were snogging," Harry finished for her, reddening slightly.

Umbridge looked faintly nauseous. "Ah. And why near that particular corridor, Mr. Potter, where you and many other troublemakers have been lurking for the past several months? What is over there, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "Dunno," he said evasively. Umbridge's eyes narrowed further. "Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Lovegood?"

Luna, remembering what Professors Moody and Harry had said in their respective lessons about accepting food or drink from those you did not trust, fervently shook her head. Umbridge closed her eyes and leaned back.

"Very well," she said quietly. "The two of you should return to your Houses. Straightaway. Do not tarry. Am I clear?"

Without answering, the pair left, not daring to make eye contact with each other. Once clear of her office, however, they whooped and high-fived, Luna kicking up her heels. "We got off!" she cheered.

"I think we'd better do as she says, though," Harry said seriously. "Night, Luna."

"Goodnight, Harry Potter," she replied. She gave him a quick kiss on the neck, much like she had so disastrously all those months ago, and departed in the direction of the Ravenclaw tower, skipping happily. Grinning to himself, Harry also returned to his House, ignoring Ron and Hermione's curious looks and going straight to bed.

**A/N: **Umbridge causing problems, as per usual. Now that I'm doing two fics, I know updating has gotten a bit slower. I'm sorry! Please, if you liked it, or you think it could improve, tell me! If you have any ideas for plot twists, tell me!


	10. Catenaries and Dirigibles

**Chapter 10  
>AN: I am so, so sorry I never update this one. School starting + new job + new boyfriend = zero time to write. However, with a happy relationship comes inspiration, so I decided to get back to this story. **

"Catenaries and dirigibles brace and buoy the living room." – Joanna Newsom**  
>657*&amp;()&amp;^*%$^*&amp;<br>** Xenophilius Lovegood picked his daughter up from King's Cross Station, and the pair returned home for the holidays. Christmas dinner was, as per usual, a quiet affair, the traditional cuisines accented by unorthodox recipes of Lovegood invention.  
>Luna, for her part, was rather lost in thought through the entire meal. Her father wasn't exactly the talkative sort, and that left her with ample time to wonder. Harry had not written once all break—not that she <em>expected<em> him to or anything, she was just worried about him. He was always managing to get himself into some sort of trouble….

"…isn't that quite right, Luna, dear?" her father asked nervously, eyeing his daughter. His attitude towards her had changed somewhat since he had learned of her union with Harry. Men, for some reason, seem to have an odd revulsion towards their daughters allowing other men into their lives. There are numerous supposed reasons for it. Perhaps Xenophilius did not want his daughter growing up too fast. In a time period when girls are losing their maidenheads before adulthood, this is an apt concern.

Say he wanted Luna to stay a little girl. Not entirely a healthy wish, but still quite common and understandable. He was a lonely man, at home all year alone save for their pets (Luna's hairless cat Andersen, hairless because she was allergic to cat hair, who came home with her over breaks, and her father's several owls—two barn, one elf. The elf owl, nicknamed Pip, was actually Luna's, but as he was rather small for deliveries, he stayed at home during breaks).

So, naturally, Xenophilius wouldn't want Luna to get married, move away, grow old without him. Luna herself hated the thought of her father, alone full-time, she too busy bearing and raising babies to accompany him on holidays to Switzerland and Holland.  
>"Luna?" her father repeated, and Luna shook herself out of her reverie.<p>

"Yes, Daddy, what did you say?"

"I was saying, we should go to Sweden this summer," he repeated. "There was a recent sighting of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack there. Several, in fact."

Luna considered this, her lips pursed. "But, Daddy, wherever would we find the gold for that?"

Xenophilius winked at her. "I've had an idea, Luna, my pet," he said, with that air he always possessed when he thought himself clever. "The _Prophet_ has been printing lies about your boyfriend. He's a lunatic, they say. The Dark Lord is dead, Potter and Dumbledore are spouting lies for attention. Right?"

Unsure of where this was going, Luna nodded.

"So," he continued, talking through a bite of seasoned purple potato, "I'm sure the public is growing tired of hearing the same story over and over again, and one that select few believe to be a falsity."

Something was dawning on Luna. She took a gulp of Gurdyroot infusion, smacking her lips at the delightful taste. At her silence, her father continued speaking.

"The _Quibbler_ could print that story. The true one."

Luna tipped her head to the side slightly, thinking hard. Wouldn't that be taking advantage of him, of Harry?

Seeing, or perhaps sensing, his daughter's indecision, Xenophilius spoke hurriedly. "Of course, it would be completely optional for him," he said, a bit anxious. "And," eager this time, "it would earn us great popularity and respect—the article may be almost as ground-breaking as our recent findings on the movements of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!"

At last, Luna nodded. "Yes," she said slowly, her first word in several minutes. "Yes, I think that could work… if Harry's willing to talk about it." Xenophilius looked overjoyed.

"Finally," he said loudly. "A chance to reveal the truth to the Wizarding world at large." Whatever he may have said next was interrupted by a terse tap at the nearest window. Luna, already a bit on edge, whipped her head around to see Harry's snowy-white owl, Hedwig, perched in one of the Dirigible plum trees. There was a parcel tied to one of her talon-adorned feet.

Luna rose from her seat and opened the window, allowing Hedwig to hop gracefully onto her arm. The owl surveyed her with serene amber eyes; animals had always taken well to Luna.

"I'll just nip upstairs and open this," she said softly to her father, turning to go.

"Do write Harry and ask about setting up an interview," her father called after her, returning to his now slightly cold purple potatoes.

Up in her room, Luna fetched Hedwig a bowl of water and relieved her of the parcel. Hedwig lowered her beaked head and drank gratefully, fluffing up her feathers to get warm.

Luna opened the parcel to find an irregularly-shaped object wrapped in brown paper. She first removed a letter, slit the seal, and began to read.

_Luna, _

_First of all, happy Christmas. Hope your dad's well, and you. _

_Ron's dad's been attacked by Voldemort's snake, and I'm spending Christmas at Snuffles's house with the Weasley family. Not much else to report. Stay safe. _

_Best, _

_Harry _

Luna's stomach leapt at the third sentence. Ronald's family lived just over a hill from her, and she had met Arthur Weasley on several occasions. A slightly awkward yet surprisingly warm man, he had often brought over his wife's homemade pies in the year after Luna's mother died. Luna quite liked him.

Turning her attention to the parcel, Luna carefully removed the coarse brown paper to find a pair of trainers, a golden yellow colour, little wings painted on the sides. A scrap of parchment in one of the shoes read _P.S., figured you could use some new shoes. Did the wings myself, sorry if they're a bit messy. xo, Harry. _

Luna smiled to herself and slipped the shoes on. They fit exactly. Sitting down at her desk with her father's request in mind, she began to pen a letter, not to Harry, but to Hermione Granger, whom Luna admired for her ability to organize perfectly ordinary things such as magazine interviews.

$%$^$&*()&^%$

**A/N: Purple potatoes exist. They taste just like regular potatoes, except… ~*fancier*~**

**Please, tell me what you liked and disliked about this chapter!**


	11. Milky Moon

**Chapter 11  
>AN: Recently got a job, a boyfriend, and started school again all in one week. So lately I've been extremely busy! Strangely, I went from the lowest point in my life to the happiest. I'm so very grateful to be alive. I would update every day, had I but world enough, and time, but sadly that's not the case! However, I will do my best to keep writing.**

**Disclaimer: A large chunk of this chapter is Rowling's. I am making no profit off of any part of this story, and am merely using it for my own amusement and the amusement of my readers. It's all hers. **

"A thimble's worth of milky moon can touch hearts larger than a thimble." – Joanna Newsom, "Bridges and Balloons"

Hermione's returning letter was eager, if somewhat surprised. She wrote to Luna saying that she even knew a good reporter for the job. She closed the letter with 'Valentine's Day?' and Luna hastened to tell her father.

Xenophilius, in turn, agreed to write Hermione when he had an opening in the _Quibbler_. He wanted to get a long feature story on Crumple-Horned Snorcacks in the next issue, so Harry's interview would be published in the one after.

Luna left for Hogwarts in early January feeling rather proud of herself, as well as simply grateful to be alive. Her hair may not have been sleek as a well-fed cat, her fingernails may not have been impeccably groomed, and she was not conventionally a pretty girl. But she had found a kindred spirit in Harry, who knew what it was to be an outcast, looked down upon, sneered at and spat on and thought mad. And she had found wonderful friends in Ginny, Ronald, and Hermione, the latter two having accepted her into their lives most graciously.

Yes, mused Luna, returning her things to her dormitory. Sometimes it was good to simply enjoy being alive, despite one's misgivings and the world's many faults.

Saint Valentine's Day dawned clear and cold as a mountain stream. Harry had invited Luna out to Madam Puddifoot's, a small Hogsmeade tea-shop frequented by teenaged couples. However, after poking their noses inside the door and taking in the garishly-colored decorations and obnoxious floating cherubs, the pair decided it would be best to skip tea and head straight for the Three Broomsticks, where, Luna had informed Harry, they would be meeting up with Hermione.

After stopping by the bar and ordering a gillywater (Luna) and a butterbeer (Harry), the pair began casting around for Hermione in the proper din of students.

"Luna! Harry! Over here!"

Hermione was waving at them from the other side of the room. Harry and his girlfriend made their devious way towards her through the crowded pub. They were still a few tables away when Harry realized that Hermione was not alone.

"Luna, is that… Rita Skeeter?"

Luna stood on her tip-toes, trying to get a good look. "Oh, yes, it is," she replied, squeezing Harry's hand. "Hermione didn't mention _who _she was bringing. Didn't she work for the Daily Prophet?" Harry did not deign to reply to this, and they continued on to Hermione's table.

"You're early!" said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. "I thought you were going to Madame Puddifoot's, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!"

"Puddifoot's?" said Rita at once, twisting round in her seat to stare avidly at Luna. "With a girl?" She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it.

"It's none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls," Hermione told Rita coolly. "So you can put that away right now."

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Hermione.

"Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived," said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. "I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?" she shot at Hermione.

"Yes, I suppose you are," said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and, glancing at Luna, said out of the corner of her mouth, "Pretty girl, isn't she, Harry?"

"One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise," said Hermione irritably.

"What deal?" said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. "You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy, you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days…" She took a deep shuddering breath.

"Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me," said Hermione indifferently. "Find someone who cares, why don't you?"

"They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help," said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, "How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed? Distraught? Misunderstood?"

"He feels angry, of course," said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. "Because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him."

"So you actually stick to it, do you, that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back?" said Rita, lowering her glass and subjecting Harry to a piercing stare while her finger strayed longingly to the clasp of the crocodile bag. "You stand by all this garbage Dumbledore's been telling everybody about You-Know-Who returning and you being the sole witness?"

"I wasn't the sole witness," snarled Harry. "There were a dozen-odd Death Eaters there as well. Want their names?"

"I'd love them," breathed Rita, now fumbling in her bag once more and gazing at him as though he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. "A great bold headline: '**Potter Accuses…**' A sub-heading, 'Harry Potter Names Death Eaters Still Among Us'. And then, beneath a nice big photograph of you, 'Disturbed teenage survivor of You-Know-Who's attack, Harry Potter, 15, caused outrage yesterday by accusing respectable and prominent members of the wizarding community of being Death Eaters… '"

The Quick-Quotes Quill was actually in her hand and halfway to her mouth when the rapturous expression on her face died.

"But of course," she said, lowering the quill and looking daggers at Hermione, "Little Miss Perfect wouldn't want that story out there, would she?"

"As a matter of fact," said Hermione sweetly, "that's exactly what Little Miss Perfect does want."

Rita stared at her. So did Harry. Luna, on the other hand, sang 'Weasley is our King' dreamily under her breath and stirred her drink with a cocktail onion on a stick.

"You want me to report what he says about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?" Rita asked Hermione in a hushed voice.

"Yes, I do," said Hermione. "The true story. All the facts. Exactly as Harry reports them. He'll give you all the details, he'll tell you the names of the undiscovered Death Eaters he saw there, he'll tell you what Voldemort looks like now - oh, get a grip on yourself," she added contemptuously, throwing a napkin across the table, for, at the sound of Voldemort's name, Rita had jumped so badly she had slopped half her glass of Firewhiskey down herself.

Rita blotted the front of her grubby raincoat, still staring at Hermione. Then she said baldly, "The Prophet wouldn't print it. In case you haven't noticed, nobody believes his cock-and-bull story. Everyone thinks he's delusional. Now, if you let me write the story from that angle -"

"We don't need another story about how Harry's lost his marbles!" said Hermione angrily. "We've had plenty of those already, thank you! I want him given the opportunity to tell the truth!"

"There's no market for a story like that," said Rita coldly.

"You mean the Prophet won't print it because Fudge won't let them," said Hermione irritably.

Rita gave Hermione a long, hard look. Then, leaning forwards across the table towards her, she said in a businesslike tone, "All right, Fudge is leaning on the Prophet, but it comes to the same thing. They won't print a story that shows Harry in a good light. Nobody wants to read it. It's against the public mood. This last Azkaban breakout has got people quite worried enough. People just don't want to believe You-Know-Who's back."

"So the Daily Prophet exists to tell people what they want to hear, does it?" said Hermione scathingly.

Rita sat up straight again, her eyebrows raised, and drained her glass of Firewhiskey.

"My dad thinks it's an awful paper," said Luna, gazing at Rita with her clear-cut sapphire eyes. "He publishes important stories he thinks the public needs to know. He doesn't care about making money."

Rita looked disparagingly at Luna.

"I'm guessing your father runs some stupid little village newsletter?" she said. "Probably, Twenty- Five Ways to Mingle with Muggles and the dates of the next Bring and Fly Sale?"

"No," said Luna, dipping her onion back into her Gillywater, "he's the editor of The Quibbler."

Rita snorted so loudly that people at a nearby table looked round in alarm. "'Important stories he thinks the public needs to know', eh? " she said witheringly. "I could manure my garden with the contents of that rag."

"Well, this is your chance to raise the tone of it a bit, isn't it?" said Hermione pleasantly. "Luna says her father's quite happy to take Harry's interview. That's who'll be publishing it."

Rita stared at them both for a moment, then let out a great whoop of laughter.

"The Quibbler!" she said, cackling. "You think people will take him seriously if he's published in The Quibbler!"

"Some people won't," said Hermione in a level voice. "But the Daily Prophet's version of the Azkaban breakout had some gaping holes in it. I think a lot of people will be wondering whether there isn't a better explanation of what happened, and if there's an alternative story available, even if it is published in a -" she glanced sideways at Luna, "in a - well, an unusual magazine - I think they might be rather keen to read it."

Rita didn't say anything for a while, but eyed Hermione shrewdly, her head a little to one side.

"All right, let's say for a moment I'll do it," she said abruptly. "What kind of fee am I going to get?"

"I don't think Daddy exactly pays people to write for the magazine," said Luna thoughtfully, with a shake of her ponderous mane of curls. "They do it because it's an honor and, of course, to see their names in print."

Rita Skeeter looked as though the taste of Stinksap was strong in her mouth again as she rounded on Hermione.

"I'm supposed to do this for free?"

"Well, yes," said Hermione calmly, taking a sip of her drink. "Otherwise, as you very well know, I will inform the authorities that you are an unregistered Animagus. Of course, the Prophet might give you rather a lot for an insider's account of life in Azkaban."

Rita looked as though she would have liked nothing better than to seize the paper umbrella sticking out of Hermione's drink and thrust it up her nose.

"I don't suppose I've got any choice, have I?" said Rita, her voice shaking slightly. She opened her crocodile bag once more, withdrew a piece of parchment, and raised her Quick-Quotes Quill.

"Daddy will be pleased," said Luna brightly. A muscle twitched in Rita's jaw.

"Okay, Harry?" said Hermione, turning to him. "Ready to tell the public the truth?"

"I suppose," said Harry, watching Rita balancing the Quick-Quotes Quill at the ready on the parchment between them.

"Fire away, then, Rita," said Hermione serenely, fishing a cherry out from the bottom of her glass.


End file.
